Chapter 331
Cailin let out a laugh that sounded like breaking glass. The sheer absurdity of his logic made her stomach churn.
“SEALs?” Cailin mocked, her eyes blazing. “Are your snipers going to shoot your mother when she calls Elia a bastard? Are your bodyguards going to tackle Jakobe when he whispers death threats in her ear? You can’t put a bullet in emotional abuse, Hilliard!”
Hilliard’s jaw ticked. He hated feeling incompetent, and Cailin’s words were slicing right through his armor. He adjusted his cuffs — a nervous tic he only displayed when losing control of a situation.
“This is my mother using children to fight a proxy war, Cailin,” Hilliard said, his voice dropping into a cold, clinical register. His corporate ruthlessness took over. “You cannot solve this with emotional outbursts. I will go down there and crush it using my rules. Right now.”
He marched past her and threw the study door open.
Cailin scooped Elia into her arms and followed him. She needed to see this. She needed to see him fail.
Downstairs in the grand living room, the scene was perfectly staged. Jakobe sat on the edge of the velvet sofa, holding an ice pack to his head — though he hadn’t hit it. Jeraldine stroked his hair, cooing softly.
Hilliard descended the grand staircase. His heavy footsteps made the crystal chandelier tremble slightly. The room fell instantly silent.
He walked to the sofa and looked down at Jakobe.
“What happened?” Hilliard asked, his voice a deep, authoritative rumble.
Jakobe looked up, eyes wide and brimming with fresh, perfectly timed tears. He scrambled off the sofa and threw his arms around Hilliard’s leg, burying his face in his trousers.
“I’m so scared, Daddy,” Jakobe whimpered, his voice trembling. “I just wanted to play with her. I’ll give her all my toys. I’ll give her my room. Just please don’t let her hurt me again.”
It was a masterclass in manipulation. The absolute submission, the offering of his own possessions — it hit Hilliard right in his blind spot. He was programmed to protect the weak, and Jakobe was playing the ultimate victim.
Hilliard sighed. He gently patted Jakobe’s head, then turned to look at Elia, who was standing on the bottom step of the stairs, holding Cailin’s hand.
“Elia,” Hilliard said, softening his voice and trying to sound like a mediator. “Jakobe is offering to share. You need to compromise. Shake his hand. Tomorrow I will take you both to FAO Schwarz and buy you anything you want. You can have the whole store.”
Elia didn’t move. She stood perfectly still on the marble step and stared at Hilliard. Her grey eyes — his exact eyes — were completely devoid of warmth. There was a profound, chilling disappointment in her gaze. It was the exact same look Cailin had given him five years ago, right before she vanished.
Hilliard’s chest tightened painfully. His lungs felt as though they were filled with wet sand.
“I don’t want your gifts,” Elia said. Her voice was crystal clear, ringing through the silent room. “I just want my Mommy.”
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